


Into Light

by WoodlandGoddess1



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Frottage, M/M, Mentions of Gags, Naked Cuddling, Ritual Sex, Sexual Roleplay, mentions of bondage, mentions of orgasm denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-13
Updated: 2019-05-13
Packaged: 2020-03-02 19:44:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18817732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoodlandGoddess1/pseuds/WoodlandGoddess1
Summary: Winter had come fast and hard — much harder than anticipated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place in the same universe as [Into Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12770388/chapters/29136666). Technically, Into Light is a sequel, but the previous fic only gets a brief mention. Most of it can stand alone. 
> 
> I had a fun time working on this and I hope readers will have as much fun reading it!

His breath misted in front of him when Arthur slipped out onto the battlements. Just drawing in a breath sent an ache through his chest as his lungs protested against the cold. A sudden gust of wind slithered beneath his clothes a moment later and a shiver rippled through his frame at once. Arthur drew his new winter cloak closer to him and relished the soft warmth the wolf pelt lining the inside provided.

Winter had come fast and hard — much harder than anticipated. Fortunately, the weather wasn’t as harsh as it could have been. Still…the frigid temperatures and hard ground worried him. When he was a boy, a hard winter like this one had led to harsher weather the following winter and that wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate right now. He’d been crowned King so recently, and the health of his people was his responsibility; he couldn’t bear the thought of losing his citizens to frigid temperatures and starvation when the ground refused to thaw.

And it didn’t help that winter was his least favourite season.

Winter meant remaining indoors and gaining weight while he and the men under his command endured their growing restlessness. Fortunately, winter also meant that there weren’t villains to vanquish or criminals to pursue. Not even bandits were willing to brave the snow and ice for a few coins and trinkets. No one was desperate enough to risk losing fingers or toes to the frigid temperatures.

Arthur pushed those thoughts aside and paused momentarily, surprised to see the man he’d been searching for looking out over the parapets. He hadn’t expected to find Merlin here. Searching the battlements had been a long shot when searching the usual haunts proved fruitless. His master didn’t have much fondness for the cold: it reminded him of the harsh winters he’d endured as a child and the lives lost in his tiny, unprotected village. Arthur drew his lip between his teeth and chewed it as his heart clenched at the thought of Merlin subjecting himself to flashbacks on purpose.

Arthur crossed the battlements quickly, but slowed a moment before he wrapped his arms around him. Merlin didn’t jump out of his skin as he’d expected. He didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. Frowning, Arthur drew his cloak around both of them tightly, pressing closer to him as the fur lining provided some insulation against the cold. He moulded the barrel of his chest to the long lines in front of him and sighed softly, relishing how familiar the action was. He rested his hand over his heart. He nuzzled the back of his neck and couldn’t help gasping, “You’re freezing!”

Merlin seemed to notice him then. A questioning hum escaped him.

“How long have you been out here?!”

“I don’t know.” Merlin frowned slowly, his brows knitting together in obvious confusion as he turned his head and looked at Arthur. His words were sluggish and heavy, his tongue tripping over them. Merlin lifted a hand to cover the one resting over his heart and Arthur almost flinched upon feeling the sharp chill affecting those long fingers. He grabbed his hand and raised it higher immediately, his stomach twisting when he saw how blue his fingers were. That wasn’t good. “Came out here to think. I must have lost track of time.”

“You’ll catch death out here.” Arthur forced him to turn around and stuffed those cold hands beneath his own doublet. He ignored the urge to flinch away, knowing Merlin needed all the warmth he could get. It didn’t matter that he had to endure such a cold touch — keeping his master warm was more important. Arthur began rubbing immediately, using his free hand to rub some warmth into the nearest arm. He turned his head a fraction and nuzzled against his face in an attempt to warm him up somewhat. Merlin shivered in his embrace at once. His hands shifted around to his back and clutched at his muscular frame. Arthur allowed the contact for several moments before murmuring, “Come on. We should head inside. Our chambers are nice and toasty, Sire.”

“Your chambers.”

“ _Our_ chambers.” Arthur reiterated the words firmly, adding a sharp emphasis to the possessive verb. He hated the resistance he heard in that familiar voice whenever he used such a phrase to describe the chambers that Merlin frequented so often. His master spent more time in his bed than out of it. Arthur wasn’t certain what he could to do to convince him to consider those chambers _theirs._ “Just…come on.”

“Okay,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur almost didn’t hear his response over the gust of wind that swirled around them in that moment and pelted them with snow. He almost carried his master across the battlements and through the doorway, desperate to escape the cold wind and bring warmth back into those limbs. He shuddered when he felt snow melt down the back of his doublet before slamming the door shut behind them. It slid down the curve of his spine and soaked through his doublet at the small of his back. Arthur couldn’t help scowling; snow didn’t care about his personal boundaries.

That was another reason that he hated winter.

Shaking his head minutely, Arthur pushed the thought aside forcefully, knowing he couldn’t waste time. His distaste for winter didn’t matter now. What mattered was ensuring Merlin was okay, that he wouldn’t lose his fingers to the cold. Merlin needed to warm up as soon as possible. Arthur ushered his master through the castle quickly, ignoring the servants that cast inquisitive glances at them in favour of bearing his weight when the shivers began to set in.

It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with a situation like this.

When he was a boy, Morgana had fallen into a frozen lake. She’d stormed out of the castle after an argument with their father. She’d ignored his command to stay, and the words of caution from the nobles along the way, and Arthur and Gwen had gone after her without a second thought.

Both of them had known she couldn’t be alone during such a harsh winter.

The two of them had tracked her through the woods.

Arthur had supported Gwen during the trek. It hadn’t been easy, walking through the snow. It had been crunchy, and slippery, and Gwen had almost fallen on him several times while following Morgana. But that hadn’t mattered much in the scheme of things. All he’d cared about was catching up to Morgana and ensuring that she was okay, and then bringing her back to the castle unharmed. That had been the most vital part of his chosen mission. To do otherwise would have risked the wrath of the King, who’d favoured Morgana from the moment she’d come to live with them in Camelot.

Things hadn’t gone to plan.

Arthur could still remember the surge of terror in his chest when the ice cracked beneath her and she’d disappeared in front of them. He could remember their frantic scramble across the lake and the cold that slithered beneath his skin when the pair of them prostrated themselves on the ice. He could remember the knives that stabbed through his arms as he plunged his hands into the cold depths to grab a fistful of her coat. Not to mention the strain in his growing muscles and the angry, terrified tears that spilled down his face as he and Gwen had hauled Morgana out of the frostbitten depths.

Morgana had seemed so blue and lifeless in their arms.

Gwen had fallen to pieces in instant. Arthur had lashed out at Morgana instead. He’d started shouting, shaking her and ordering her to wake up even as he’d cried. She wasn’t allowed to die.

His father had arrived on horseback a moment or so later. He’d dismounted before the horse had come to a complete stop. He’d shoved Arthur and Gwen aside roughly, and he’d almost fallen upon Morgana. His cloak had draped over them like a blanket made of blood.

Arthur could still remember the anguish on his ageing face. He could remember shaking hands tearing open a sodden coat and a gloved fist slamming down on an unmoving chest. He could remember Morgana arching back to life and coughing, almost choking on the water spilling out of her mouth as his father turned her over on her side with a tenderness that he’d never directed at his son.

Fortunately, this situation wasn’t quite as dire.

Arthur wouldn’t have to involve Gaius tonight. Merlin hadn’t inhaled a mouthful of frostbitten water and wasn’t at risk of drowning. Arthur knew what to do to help Merlin recover from the cold and getting him into his heated quarters was the first step.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to accomplish that task.

Merlin weighed almost nothing in his arms. Not when compared to the weight of his full set of armour whenever Arthur went running, attempting to maintain his stamina during the winter months through scheduling runs through the corridors. Arthur scheduled such evenings often to counteract the effects of his restlessness. Merlin encouraged him to.

Sometimes his closest men would join him for a run and such evenings would end with joking, exhausted shoving, and a private drink in his chambers while the lot of them sagged in their comfortable chairs and mumbled their gratitude as Merlin handed out cold compresses to cool their blazing foreheads and soft towels to soak up their sweat. Merlin would often come to stand behind Arthur on such an evening, his looming presence as welcome as the cool fingers slipping into his damp hair.  He’d never cared that Arthur was hot and sweaty, his tunic ripe with it once he’d stripped out of his armour and gambeson and collapsed into his chair. He’d never cared that his hair was damp — it wouldn’t have been the first time he’d carded his fingers through sweaty, flat locks. Arthur would smile up at him dazedly, a secret smile that didn’t appear until their friends were dozing in their chairs.

Unfortunately, Arthur had often been close behind them. But his master never seemed to mind his growing drowsiness. Honestly, Merlin seemed to relish the chance to watch him grow soft and sleepy, tactile and affectionate. Merlin would feather kisses over his face once he’d kicked their friends out and curl around him in their bed.

Sometimes Arthur ran alone and his loving master would reward him with a long night of ecstasy, however. He’d secure him to the bed and then feed him broken pieces of ice with one hand while running another over his heated body, a smug smirk curling his lips whenever Arthur shivered or moaned beneath him. Twin storms would be riveted upon him on such nights and Arthur would be at their mercy, completely, willingly, his heart thumping in his chest and his gaze heavy, looking up at his master through his lashes. And then Merlin would take Arthur sweetly, blanketing him and sliding deep once he was soft and pliant and delirious with pleasure.

Merlin took care of him so well.

Now it was his turn to take care of Merlin.

Arthur barricaded them in their chambers quickly, informing the guards stationed outside that he wasn’t to be disturbed unless it was a life or death situation. Nothing mattered more than taking care of Merlin. Arthur led him to the bearskin rug in front of the fireplace and started stripping as Merlin shivered so hard that his teeth started chattering.

“I wasn’t expecting a show. Yule was last week.”

Merlin managed to smile through his shivers and Arthur almost thumped him for his attempt at humour. But at least Merlin didn’t sound as sluggish and confused as he had on the battlements. Arthur reached for the belt his master wore instead and hauled him closer before stripping him quickly, ignoring his pitiful whining as he let frostbitten clothes pool on the stone floor.

“I’ll have to clean that up tomorrow —”

“I’ll get someone else to do it.” Arthur gripped narrow hips and pulled Merlin forward roughly, wrapping his arms around him as his master collided with him. He held him through the shivers wracking his body, supporting his weight and feathering kisses against raven hair for a moment before drawing the top of one vulnerable ear between his lips. Merlin squeaked in his embrace and tensed abruptly, his back curving. Arthur chuckled lightly, but didn’t cease his ministrations.

Slowly, gradually, the first wave of shivers came to an end while Arthur alternated between bestowing hot kisses against vulnerable skin and caressing familiar lines that seemed to stretch forever. That was when Arthur helped Merlin down onto the bearskin rug and drew his winter cloak over them as he wrapped himself around Merlin in front of the blazing fire.

“You’re terrible.” Merlin nuzzled his face and Arthur smiled innocently, his own lips a tad red and swollen from the kisses he’d bestowed. “Taking advantage of me when I’m weak and vulnerable.”

“You’ve never been weak and vulnerable.”

“I’ve come close once or twice.” Merlin shuffled a fraction closer and tightened his arms around him. One hand came to card through his hair. “Usually, it happens when a certain prat almost gets himself killed.”

“Hey, I’ve gotten much better at not jumping into things without thinking,” Arthur grumbled in protest. He brushed a tender kiss against the corner of his mouth and added quietly, “And I’m not the one who went outside without something to keep me warm. Sounds like someone needs a taste of his own medicine.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A suggestion.” Arthur kissed him again. “I think I’d make a dashing master.”

“You’d cave as soon as I started getting weepy,” Merlin teased as one of his crinkly, endearing smiles made an appearance. His fingertips caressed his scalp. “You’re like a puppy, who starts whining and headbutting whenever I’m the slightest bit upset.”

“Shut up.” Arthur couldn’t help the rush of heat that surged through him and flooded his face without an ounce of warning, earning an amused smile from his master and an affectionate squeeze. Without warning, he surged forward and pushed Merlin on to his back in order to prove he wasn’t a puppy, and had some sense of dominance and control inside him. Even if it wasn’t the sexual kind. Arthur wasn’t surprised when those affectionate hands slid downwards to cup his backside — his master never could resist the temptation his arse provided. “You can’t lecture me about caving,” Arthur added confidently, a certain smugness curling his lips as he braced his forearms on either side of his head. His knees dug into the bearskin rug beneath them. Each breath sent tendrils of pleasure spiralling down from his pebbling nipples whenever he grazed against pale skin and dark hair. “Remember the first time we…?”

“How could I forget?” Merlin smiled wryly, a small shiver rippling through his frame again. A second shiver followed the first a moment later. Arthur drew his winter cloak tight around the pair of them as Merlin slid his arms around his back once more and squeezed him closer. Both of them ignored the faint chattering that set in as Merlin reminisced. “You were so reckless in the arena and I was so furious that I couldn’t see straight. Had to gulp down a few calming breaths before charging into the pavilion.”

“You caved.”

“That isn’t what happened.” Merlin ignored his shivering in favour of rolling them back onto their sides. He drew his thigh tight around his hip with familiar possessiveness. Arthur couldn’t help grinning, wondering how Merlin would excuse his past actions. He could remember the sweltering heat of his anger when Merlin stormed into the pavilion that afternoon long ago. He could remember the sharp edge in his voice when Merlin ordered him to strip and watched him comply, his slender frame trembling. He could remember the firm strength in his hands when he’d pulled his arms behind his back and bound them in place with his own belt. Arthur could remember whimpering, and shivering, his blood pounding in his ears and his cock stiff with need as Merlin gagged him with his neckerchief. He could remember the confusing mix of fear and excitement that surged through his chest as Merlin forced him onto the table nearby, sending his armour to the ground in the process. “You endured three aborted orgasms. You were a broken mess and I saw fit to claim what was mine.”

“Because I started sobbing.”

“Because I’m not a monster,” Merlin corrected quickly, reaching around and pinching his backside with shaking fingers. It felt like a punishment and a tease all at once. Arthur couldn’t help smirking, aware that Merlin could feel his cock pulsing with interest against his pelvis. But he also knew that nothing would happen between them tonight — not after he’d found Merlin in the cold. He couldn’t bear to put his master at risk because of his own selfish needs. Taking care of him was more important than the heat simmering in his veins. “You endured so much that afternoon and did so without complaint. You didn’t beg. You didn’t fight the restraints for an instant. You took the punishment so well and I wanted to reward that. I didn’t cave.”

Arthur hummed dubiously, but didn’t argue. He nuzzled raven hair as he recalled how Merlin had gripped his thighs roughly, forcing them wide and bending him almost double in the process. How sparks of magic had crackled across his skin before enveloping the base of his cock. He’d whimpered all over again upon feeling that sensation and he’d wondered what Merlin had in store for him. His master had seemed so commanding, so powerful. Arthur had been defenceless against him. He hadn’t wanted to find a defence in the first place. It wasn’t long until Merlin had him writhing, vines of magic torturing him with ecstasy, driving him to heights he’d never experienced before.

Arthur hadn’t known what that band of magic gripping his cock was for. Not until he’d approached an orgasm and found he couldn’t release. He hadn’t cried the first time. He’d entrusted himself to Merlin completely, knowing his master would never harm him. He’d come closer to tears the second time and he’d had to focus on his breathing to get him through the resultant ache and frustration that settled in as Merlin loomed over him and watched him hungrily, determined and predatory, bringing primal forces to mind. He’d wanted to earn his approval and each shaking breath that carried him through his own frustration had brought him closer to that approval. Arthur could remember the storms shifting, and softening, glimmers of sunshine peaking through those primal forces as he’d guided himself through his second aborted orgasm without breaking down into sobs or begging through the gag.

Merlin hadn’t relented in his punishment though. He’d continued to torture him with those vines of magic. But he’d started teasing and tormenting him personally, as well. He’d let his hands roam over his body, taking noticeable delight in how Arthur squirmed and moaned beneath his touch.

That was when Arthur had started to break. That was when the tears had started welling, threatening to fall. He’d crushed his lashes against his cheeks. He hadn’t wanted to cry, to shatter into pieces. He’d thought breaking would mean disappointing Merlin. And that was when a gentle hand had slipped into his hair and tugged lightly, encouraging him to look at his master.

Arthur had complied immediately, gazing up at Merlin tearfully, spasms running through his spread legs. The vines of magic tormenting him had grown more determined as the pair of them had gazed at each other and then Arthur was breaking, his entire frame stiffening, an anguished sob escaping him as his orgasm was denied all over again.

Merlin had almost become a different person then. Those primal forces had slipped away, leaving someone soft and loving in their wake. Merlin had released the band of magic from around his cock even as he’d unlaced his trousers and pressed deep inside him without warning, taking advantage of how weak and boneless he’d become when his punishment shattered him at last. Merlin had feathered his face with tender kisses and had cradled him gently, taking him at a careful pace.

Arthur had sobbed weakly, brokenly, unable to muster enough strength to rock into those slender hips as Merlin claimed him for the first time. He’d just choked on the gag in his mouth and moaned in mindless pleasure. He’d been sensitive — too sensitive — but he hadn’t cared about that. He hadn’t cared about the people walking past the pavilion. All he’d cared about was the welcome weight of his master pressing down on him and the soft praise falling from his lips with each kiss.

Arthur looked at his master now and couldn’t stop himself from feathering kisses across familiar cheekbones. He chuckled when he felt his teeth chattering through his kisses and snuggled still closer. His hands began roaming, rubbing warmth into long limbs as Merlin tucked his head under his chin and clung to him beneath the blankets.

The pair of them lapsed into a comfortable silence.

It wasn’t the first time Arthur and Merlin had curled up in front of the fireplace like this. Admittedly, such occasions often followed a round of sensuous lovemaking, where his master would pin his hands down with his own and hold him at the edge of an orgasm until feverish pleas fell from his lips.

Almost absently, Arthur noted the poker rising from the stand beside the hearth and prodding the flames an indeterminate amount of time later. His attention flicked toward the fireplace for a moment. He watched as a few logs threw themselves into the flames as the third wave of shivering started waning, sending sparks into the air and a fresh wave of heat rolling over them. Arthur squeezed his master affectionately, grateful that his magic made things so much easier. He couldn’t stand the thought of releasing Merlin in order to tend to the hearth. He brushed damp locks away, letting his fingertips graze a flushed forehead. His lips curled around a soft smile as Merlin blinked dazedly, feverish and content in his arms.

The space between their bodies was hot and sticky, but Arthur knew better than to let go. He knew it would be a while more before Merlin recovered from his exposure to the elements. But he didn’t mind snuggling for a while longer. It gave him a rare chance to be the one observing, watching his master grow soft and sleepy, comfortable in his arms.

Arthur couldn’t help feeling grateful for the chance. He carded his fingers through raven hair and sighed peacefully, a soft smile lingering on his face as Merlin released a similar sigh. A soft breath ghosted across his collarbone. Idly, Arthur began running the palm of one hand up and down the damp curve of his back. He was grateful for the chance to take care of Merlin. He liked knowing that Merlin trusted him enough to relax in his embrace and let himself be cared for. It wasn’t a secret that some people made awful patients — some men in particular. Arthur was guilty, himself.

Merlin was a different matter entirely; he didn’t think it was a slight to his own manhood to entrust his care to someone else. He was confident in his masculinity, and in his dominance. He had nothing to prove to himself or to others. Merlin wasn’t like Arthur.

Arthur wondered whether that had something to do with his upbringing, whether mothers raised stronger men than fathers did. But then he remembered Elyan — who seemed so confident in who he was and his place in the world. That fact brought his pondering to a stop for a moment before another thought came to him: perhaps commoners raised stronger sons than noblemen.

An image of Lancelot interrupted his thoughts at once.

Arthur frowned immediately, feeling stumped all over again. Lancelot had been as insecure as he was. He wasn’t insecure in the same way, but it was there nonetheless. Arthur could sense it whenever the man walked into a room. There’d often been a noticeable hesitance — as though Lancelot felt he didn’t belong, as though he felt he didn’t deserve to be there. Sensing those insecurities had frustrated Arthur to no end. When it came down to meritocracy, Lancelot had deserved his knighthood more than most of the men who’d joined the ranks.

Not that Lancelot would have believed him on the matter.

“You’re thinking too loud. Stop it.”

“Funny, I remember being told I don’t think enough on numerous occasions.”

“This isn’t one of those occasions. You haven’t jumped into danger this time.” Merlin released an irritated huff and rolled forward until he was straddling Arthur, his weight a welcome presence on his lap. Arthur blinked in surprise and then smiled warmly, pleased to know his master was closer to recovering. Merlin straightened slowly, one hand braced against his chest and the other clutching the cloak at the base of his neck to stop it from sliding down his back. “But I’m serious: stop thinking. You’re distracting me.”

“That doesn’t give me much incentive.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Merlin shook his head minutely, irritation and amusement battling for dominance across the planes of his face. His fingers flexed against his chest. Merlin searched his face for a moment. “You weren’t even thinking about us a moment ago.”

“But I am now.” Arthur smiled almost sweetly, gazing at his master through his lashes as his hands skimmed lean thighs before settling upon slender hips. His heart thumped in his chest as Merlin scowled down at him. Clearly, his master wasn’t impressed. Arthur grinned and the magic he knew and cherished so much crackled dangerously, sparking across his skin and setting his senses alight. His abdomen tightened with anticipation. Arthur moistened his lips and pushed his arousal to the side before adding quietly, and more seriously, “More importantly, I’m thinking about how I found the man I love close to catching his death on the battlements. I want to know what thoughts led to that. Come on: talk to me.”

Merlin blinked down at him and sighed as he melted back into his embrace. He sprawled over Arthur, tucking his head beneath his chin once more. He released an encouraging hum when Arthur wrapped his arms around him again. Merlin snaked his hand around his shoulder and caressed his skin idly, murmuring, “I was thinking about us. About the night we negotiated a new game when Uther was ill. You know the one.”

Arthur stilled in surprise. His stomach twisted. His arms tightened around Merlin protectively, wondering whether he’d been having regrets about that night. But his fears dissolved when Merlin added quietly, “You asked if I had fantasies.”

“You said most of them weren’t feasible.”

“Most of them aren’t.” Merlin lifted his head as he offered the confirmation and smiled softly, folding his arms beneath his chin and turning his head a fraction. The new position made him look soft and tempting. Arthur wasn’t immune to his charms at all. Not when warm breath ghosted across his neck and collarbone. Arthur couldn’t help shivering, his heart in his throat and his cock stiffening further. Merlin smirked and shifted his hips slightly, grinding down against him for a moment and earning a strangled whine. “But I have one we could discuss.”

“Tell me.” Arthur croaked the words. His hands darted downwards to pin slender hips in place. He couldn’t think with those hips moving, sending tendrils of pleasure through his frame. “Tell me about it.”

“I want to have ritual sex.”

“Uh.” Arthur blinked dazedly, his mind jumping to a hundred scenarios that might have suited the suggestion. His cock pulsed with interest. He moistened his lips with a sweep of his tongue. “Tell me more.”

“I want to be an important figure —"

“You _are_ important.”

“Hush.” Merlin scolded him with a hard flick to his nose. “Don’t interrupt me.”

“Sorry,” Arthur muttered around a small smile. He didn’t feel that sorry, but he knew Merlin expected a response to his scolding all the same. He drew his lip between his teeth before adding obediently, “I’ll be a good boy, Sire. I promise.”

“You’d better.” Merlin bestowed an adoring kiss upon his nose then and continued as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “I want to be an important figure. Someone that nations approach for help during times of stress and strife. Worried about his country, a determined King approaches me in the hope that I might ease his plight and I’ll inform him that I can help. But there are conditions.”

“Like fornicating,” Arthur replied as his abdomen tightened.

“Like fornicating,” Merlin agreed with a smirk. He grazed his lips with a kiss that threatened to rob him of his breath. “But there are other conditions to be met. I’m not sure he’d like all of them.”

“What conditions?”

“He must be stripped of his riches and finery,” Merlin answered seriously, though his gaze twinkled with growing amusement. His fingertips began to explore the dips and lines of his collarbones before drifting downwards to graze his erect nipples. “This is to ensure he is humbled before the Gods. Then he must be bathed to ensure purity; the magic demands nothing less.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“That isn’t all.” The amused twinkle in his gaze strengthened as Merlin spoke. He grazed his lips with another sensual kiss and Arthur moaned softly, hating and loving the teasing at the same time. Arthur longed to be possessed entirely, to be ravished right there in front of the fire place. But he knew he couldn’t. He clung to his master instead. “He must also be prepared before being led to the grove where I’ll be waiting for him.”

“Prepared?”

“Thoroughly,” Merlin emphasised seriously, a spark of hunger igniting in his gaze. He began grazing heated kisses along the curve of his jaw. He moved towards his ear. His voice dropped in pitch. Arthur couldn’t help blushing, his mind tripping over the scene Merlin was suggesting. Complete strangers would have their hands on him before the ritual part of the fantasy, opening him up for his master. The mere idea terrified and titillated him at the same time. His cock ached with need. His heart thundered in his chest. His nails dug into familiar flesh. “Sliding into him should be as smooth as stepping into a river.”

“Merlin —”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and take me right now or I’ll combust.”

“Sorry, but that won’t be possible right now.” Merlin smirked against the lobe of his ear and then drew back slowly, looming over him in a familiar fashion. Arthur wasn’t sure whether he wanted to kiss his master or punch him. “I’m recovering from a severe case of exposure —"

   Arthur cut him off with an impassioned kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur urged his horse into a gallop as he left the citadel behind. His crimson cloak billowed behind him. His informal coronet weighed heavy, a reminder of his fears. His concerns for his people and their future. But it also served to strengthen the resolve building in his chest as he and Hengroen vanished into the Darkling Wood.

Lately, Arthur had been hearing rumours. It was the first time he’d heard such rumours filtering into the city, carried upon the breath of travellers and bards. When he’d become King, Arthur had begun to change the laws regarding magic. It was a slow and painstaking process that he fought for with tooth and nail. It had begun with allowing those who followed the old path safe passage through his realm. Recently, he’d decriminalised public discussion of sorcery, though allowing the practice of magic still remained at a distance while the council remained at odds on the subject.

The rumours coming into Camelot spoke of magic and of a sorcerer that roamed that breadth of Albion — one more powerful than he’d ever encountered before. Including Morgana. Some rumours claimed the sorcerer was immortal. That he’d emerged from the river of magic with power burning in his veins. That he was the closest thing to having a God walk the earth. The mere thought of a sorcerer so powerful made his stomach twist with increasing fear and something else.

Something he couldn’t decipher.

Normally, Arthur wouldn’t consider venturing out to find such a being, but he was at his wits end now. The winter had worsened dramatically, leaving the ground still solid when planting season arrived. It had taken all his strength to get a hoe through it when the farmers petitioned him for help and he’d almost pulled a muscle in the process. The weak and untrained would be no match against the lingering frost. Arthur had to find a solution to their dilemma quickly, or his people would starve before long.

Arthur urged his horse to gallop for as long as possible before easing back their speed gradually, allowing Hengroen to catch his breath and to ease the aches in his muscles. He watched the surrounding trees furtively, aware that his coronet and ring would fetch a fair price on the black market. Not to mention his freedom. He didn’t have a retinue to come to his defence in the event of an improbable assault — not that Sir Leon and the others hadn’t pushed to escort him. His protection was paramount to them. But he’d insisted on going alone. He hadn’t wanted to give the sorcerer he sought the wrong impression of his intentions. His sword and his wits would have to be enough.

Arthur slowed to a walk when he noticed two figures waiting up ahead. He watched them intently, waiting to see whether he was in for an attack. But the figures remained still and silent beneath their hooded cloaks as he approached. Both of them carried the same preternatural aura that Arthur had come to associate with those who practiced magic and those who followed the old path. There was something almost unnerving about it. Clearly, he wasn’t alone in such thoughts: Hengroen nickered nervously, the sound loud in the growing darkness. Arthur brushed his neck with soothing fingers before guiding him to a stop and dismounting, his hand firm around the reins and his focus sharp as the two figures inclined their heads as a mark of respect.

“Your arrival has been anticipated.”

“Is that so?” Arthur couldn’t stop the words from escaping. Nor could he soften the biting tone that sharpened his voice. His hand tightened around the reins as he strained against the urge to look around. It wasn’t as though he’d find the sorcerer watching, waiting for him. “Then he must know what I’ve come for. Where is he?”

“Come.”

“Lead the way,” Arthur grumbled under his breath when the hooded figures turned immediately, almost disappearing into the shadows before he could blink. Irritation sliced through him. It was rude to leave without leave when entertaining nobility, but he chose not to bring the matter to attention. It wouldn’t help matters in the least. He had no interest in offending those who could help his people after all. Arthur followed them without hesitating, his horse trailing behind him. The woods were quiet and still but for hoofbeats and the faint rustle of fabric. It wasn’t natural. Arthur remained alert as the guides led him off the beaten path and deeper into the Darkling Wood.

His attention flicked from shadow to shadow as the woods thickened.

Arthur could never be too careful.

Gradually, the thickening woods eased to reveal a small spring that sparkled in the moonlight filtering down through the trees. A small stream emerged from the spring, its waters shimmering as it rippled over the earth and disappeared into the woods. Its edges were tinged with frost. The clearing might have been lovely, but for the thick frost glittering across the ground and preventing the catchflies and gladioli from blooming, from filling the area with their beautiful scent.

Arthur spared the clearing a passing glance before focusing upon a third figure standing near the spring, hood drawn and hands clasped behind his back. He raked him with his gaze and noted the subtle strength making itself apparent through the drape of rich blue robes that almost spoke of nobility, shimmering silver threads curling around the hem and cuffs and hood in whimsical patterns. Arthur couldn’t help wondering whether the robes were spun from magic.

It wouldn’t have surprised him.

The figure turned slowly, the hem of his robes kissing the frozen earth. The shape of his hood concealed his features from the tip of his nose upwards easily, but his plush lips and trimmed beard were in plain sight.

Arthur swallowed thickly, surprised at how much the sight affected him. He hadn’t acknowledged his attraction to men in so long that the sudden surge threatened to rob the breath from his chest. His hands clenched sharply; Hengroen whinnied in response. It snapped him out of his daze abruptly, allowing Arthur to step forward and say, “You know what I’ve come for.”

“I do.” Emrys inclined his head a fraction. His hood shifted slightly, throwing shadows across the lower half of his face. His hands moved to clasp in front of him instead. His fingers were long and graceful. The breadth of his pale knuckles suggested a strength that made Arthur look away, heat crawling up his neck and threatening to invade his face without his consent. Several moments passed before Emrys spoke again. His voice was soft and warm. It was almost inviting. It drew his attention back to the conversation at hand. “I can help ease the frost and encourage growth in the fields. I don’t offer aid lightly, however. The ritual has certain conditions that must be met. It isn’t meant for the uncertain.”

“I don’t care about the conditions.” Arthur clenched his jaw and swallowed the doubts that threatened to rise. He raised his chin in a show of stubborn determination. His gaze sharpened. Arthur relinquished the reins and took another step forward. It brought him closer to the sorcerer. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Emrys studied him for several moments before inclining his head a fraction and murmuring softly, “Caradoc and Dewain will oversee the preparations then. I’ll be waiting in the grove.”

Arthur watched him walk into the shadows and disappear from sight with a faint ripple of his robes. Briefly, his doubts and concerns rose to the surface before he managed to squash them back down. Arthur wouldn’t let them prevent him from helping his people — no matter what the unspoken conditions were.

A moment passed in silence.

Arthur almost jumped out of his skin when Caradoc and Dewain appeared at his side without warning, as silent as ghosts. He tensed when their fingers unclasped his cloak and pulled it from his shoulders. But he didn’t protest. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t afford to protest when his people needed aid. He remained silent and grew more malleable with each garment that was pulled from his body, the tension in his frame draining in favour of helping them prepare him for the ritual. It didn’t take a genius to realise what kind of ritual it was. Arthur didn’t hesitate until all that remained were his coronet and his ring, the marks of his heritage.

His jaw clenched.

His hands curled into fists.

Slowly, Arthur forced his hands to relax and reached upwards. He removed his coronet without a word. Caradoc and Dewain watched him silently, seeming to understand that this was a personal and profound moment for the King of Camelot. It wasn’t a trivial matter in the least. Nor was the removal of his ring, which Arthur treated with twice as much reverence as he placed it down on his heap of discarded clothes. His breath shaking, Arthur then followed Caradoc and Dewain into the spring, his frame tensing against the abrupt kiss of cold water against his bare skin.

A shiver rippled through him.

Arthur held himself still as Caradoc and Dewain bathed him with utmost care. The pair of them started with his hair, their gentle hands lathering his locks with soap and massaging his scalp. Slowly, their hands descended his body, washing the sweat from his shoulders and arms before moving down the length of his chest and back. Caradoc and Dewain moved in unison. Arthur twitched in discomfort when their hands found his backside and privates simultaneously, his frame tensing and his breath catching in his chest.

Their touch was clinical and impersonal.

But that didn’t seem to matter to his body, which reacted to each touch against his will. Arthur tried to ignore his stiffening cock as Caradoc washed the area with gentle care and the faint tremble in his thighs as Dewain nudged them apart with his knee. His throat constricted as a lone finger massaged his taint beneath the water. His knees threatened to buckle beneath him. Arthur swallowed thickly, drawing in a sharp breath and struggling to keep himself together.

No one had touched him there.

He’d never trusted someone that much.

Biting his lip roughly, Arthur shoved his emotions back down and locked them in a chest hidden in the deepest recesses of his mind. His emotions weren’t helpful. He couldn’t afford to let them disrupt the ritual. His people needed him. Arthur had been raised for the monarchy; he’d grown up knowing that sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the benefit of his people.

His hands clenched and released over and over as Dewain removed his hand long enough to retrieve a small pot of oil from the bank before continuing to touch him. Dewain fingered him open with a clinical detachment that somehow made the situation seem even more perverse. His breath stuttered in his chest as each press of those fingers inside him grazed against something that sent sparks through him.

Finally, Caradoc abandoned his privates in favour of washing his legs and feet. That helped him regain a modicum of his composure as Dewain continued to finger him. Still…his cock was hard and aching when Arthur was released from their ministrations at last and he didn’t linger in their presence for long before taking the same path Emrys had taken before him.

A faint fire burned beneath his skin. It kept his insides warm as the chill from the air raised goose bumps along his skin. His toes curled against the frostbitten earth as he walked. Arthur ignored the chill and focused on that fire beneath his skin as he stepped into the grove where Emrys was waiting, his robes abandoned and his tunic draped across his strong and slender frame in a tantalising fashion.

Emrys stood beside an altar.

The altar wasn’t an elaborate thing, but the gnarled and twisted wood that made its legs before smoothing out into a flat and welcoming surface spoke of immense age. It seemed to have grown from the earth itself. Arthur couldn’t help wondering whether the sorcerer had sung the altar into being, weaving the wood of the forest with the power of his voice. Just thinking about it tied his stomach into knots and sent his heart racing. It led to a tumble of disjointed thoughts and images that made his breath catch in his throat and brought his attention back to his cock standing hard and heavy, the swollen head wet with desire at the thought of vines curling around his wrists and ankles and holding him in place.

Arthur almost choked on his tongue as the unbidden image assaulted him. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be leaving himself vulnerable to such temptation. Not when he’d worked so hard to keep himself above such depraved thoughts. Arthur couldn’t afford to have such weaknesses.

But he couldn’t walk away, not now.

Not when his people needed him most.

As though he’d sensed his coming, Emrys raised his head and smiled benignly, his gaze twinkling in the moonlight. Arthur paused at once. He felt twice as naked when those kind eyes fastened upon him.

Emrys beckoned him closer.

Swallowing thickly, Arthur squashed his fears and stepped forward as ordered. He kept walking until the warm scent of man teased his senses. It mixed with the soft scent of the woods and made an almost intoxicating combination. Arthur shivered as gentle hands found the curve of his hips and pulled him still closer. He was within an inch of Emrys now. He couldn’t breathe as the sorcerer teased the curve of his jaw with a series of soft kisses as his irises began burning with power. Murmured phrases that he couldn’t understand fell from those plush lips between kisses.

Arthur couldn’t help tipping his head back. He couldn’t help the soft sound of pleasure that escaped him. He couldn’t help clutching at the strong arms winding around him now and holding him close. His fingertips sank into pale flesh. Emrys almost seemed to smile against his skin as those lips trailed down his neck.

More incomprehensible phrases dripped from his tongue. It fell like honey, thick and heavy, caressing his skin as the magic swelled around them. Through them. It was profound and humbling, but frightening as his knees buckled beneath him.

Emrys gripped his thighs tight and heaved with a low grunt of effort. The world tilted as the sorcerer heaved him into his arms before easing him down on the ancient altar. Arthur moaned as the warm wood touched his back and he arched immediately; his skin felt so alive as Emrys moved through the ritual without hesitation.

Emrys ground his hips against him.

The friction from his trousers sent sparks of fire across his skin and Arthur writhed senselessly, the sparks turning the fire beneath his skin into a powerful blaze that left him panting. His fingers reached for the hem of his tunic without thinking and Emrys ceased kissing him long enough to let him pull it away, the material teasing both of their bodies in the same gentle sweep. Arthur moaned as it brushed against the length of his cock and then the pair of them were kissing, Emrys devouring his moan with an enthusiasm that surprised him and inflamed him at the same time.

Arthur gripped him with his thighs. His heels dug into his pert backside. He couldn’t imagine letting go. Not now. Not when his veins were singing with pleasure. Not when his flesh was burning, flushing a soft red as Emrys abandoned his mouth and continued to murmur words of power against his chest. Each word that fell from his tongue stoked the pleasure growing between them. Emrys was no longer serene or benign. Instead he was passionate and almost possessive as one hand slid downwards to grip his thigh and the other slipped between them to pull at the knots keeping his trousers secure.

Arthur gripped thick fistfuls of raven hair with both hands for a moment before letting them slip away, his hands falling to scrabble at pale shoulders. He could feel the strength in them. He could feel them shift beneath his fingers as Emrys pulled him forward slightly, letting his backside slip from the altar a fraction. Arthur moaned as he realised how precarious their position was now. It wouldn’t take much effort to shove himself free of the altar and topple them both to the ground. But he didn’t do that. Arthur reached between them with one hand instead and guided him to his taint.

“Not. Yet.” Emrys spoke through clenched teeth and Arthur couldn’t help whining in dismay, needing him now and needing him fast. His fingers dug into his thigh. His lips came to capture his in a searing kiss that made his toes curl. Arthur stroked him slowly, a counterpoint to the rampant passion burning between them. Emrys quivered in his embrace and broke the kiss quickly, more words falling from his tongue and the waves of magic rippling through the air growing more intense. “Now —”

Arthur held his cock steady, arching up and bearing down. His vision blurred with pleasure as Emrys sank deep with one smooth roll of his hips. A moan lodged in his throat as Emrys slid out almost all the way, only to slam back inside with a snap of his hips. Their coupling wasn’t gentle. It was rough and needy, almost violent. Arthur clung to him desperately, struggling to keep up with each powerful snap of those strong and slender hips.

Curses fell from his lips.

The harsh slap of flesh echoed through the grove.

Moans of pleasure saturated the air.

Emrys grunted with exertion over and over. Sweat glistened across his back. It made his fingers slip and slide in his search for purchase during their coupling. Hands that were no longer gentle pulled him off the altar entirely, a band of magic supporting his weight as Arthur found himself flush against his mouth. His legs tightened around Emrys and gripped him like a vice. His hands slid upwards to fist raven hair as the pleasure coiling inside him released at last and Arthur choked on a hoarse cry, his back arching, hot teeth now sinking into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

Emrys continued to bounce him on the hard length of his cock as Arthur released his ecstasy, his muscles contracting and relaxing over and over as he painted his torso with splashes of hot seed. Emrys panted with exertion all the while. Finally, Arthur stopped spasming with ecstasy, his cock tired and spent and his frame weak and pliant in his fortified embrace. His weakness didn’t seem to matter to Emrys as he quickened his pace. The sensation was overwhelming, somehow managing to be too much and not enough at the same time. He wanted it to stop and he wanted it to never end. All Arthur could do was cling to him until Emrys released inside him with a strained grunt.

That was when the focus of his magic seemed to break.

It shattered the scene in an instant.

Merlin buckled and grabbed for the altar with one hand as the pair of them fell together. Arthur had just enough sense to slip free of his cock before pushing against the altar with a quick hand and sending them both to the frostbitten ground. The pair of them hit the ground with an exhausted and somewhat pained grunt of shock — though it didn’t stop Arthur from kissing him deeply, a sigh rising from deep within him.

“That was amazing,” Merlin breathed eventually, once their kiss broke. His hands cradled his face with an unspoken adoration that could be read loud and clear. Arthur smiled sleepily, nuzzling against his palms. Merlin wrapped his arms around him then and crushed him close. “You’re so good to me.”

Arthur swelled with an immediate sense of pride. It flooded him with warmth despite the intense orgasm he’d just experienced. Arthur shuffled further into his embrace and tucked his head beneath his chin without an ounce of hesitation. He hummed in encouragement when a flick of tired fingers summoned the abandoned robe to them. It settled over their skin like a blanket and Arthur drew it close with a tired hand. Merlin wrapped a possessive hand around his shoulder and caressed him with his thumb beneath the robe.

“We shouldn’t linger for long.” Merlin tilted his head and kissed his hair tiredly, but sweetly, his affection obvious. “But I think we can afford a few minutes.”

“I don’t think I can move.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Shut up.” Grinning sleepily, Arthur turned his head and kissed a chin that no longer held a single trace of facial hair. He didn’t have to see his face to know his master was smirking. “You’re such a smug bastard.”

“You love it.”

“ _Shut up_.” Arthur moved to squash him into the ground. “Just shut up.”

“Make me.”

“For the love of —” Arthur didn’t finish the sentence. He kissed his master roughly, a whimper lodging in his throat. He fisted raven hair with both hands. Merlin gripped his backside possessively, squeezing just right. Their ravenous kiss broke eventually, and Arthur couldn’t help grousing, “You’re a pain in the hole.”

Merlin hummed in amused agreement.

Arthur thumped his shoulder.

Merlin laughed and rolled over to pin him against the ground. Arthur gasped as more of his skin came in contact with the chilled ground beneath them. He tried to regain his previous position and found his efforts thwarted when Merlin seized his hands and pinned them down at once. Merlin loomed over him for several moments before kissing him again.

“I think I miss the beard.”

“So do I.” Merlin smiled sheepishly, his cheeks warming. He nuzzled his face affectionately, earning a small smile from Arthur. His face — not to mention the rest of him — was tender and sensitive from their kissing, from the scratch of facial hair against his skin. Merlin continued softly, “I’ve been thinking of growing one and decided to test it out tonight. I wanted to see how it felt. For both of us.”

“I approve.”

“Your approval is noted.” Merlin laughed again and kissed him once more before adding, “Come on. We should get back to the castle before someone finds us missing and starts a commotion.”

Arthur sighed. He didn’t want their night together to end. Slipping the crown back on seemed to get harder and harder with each night he spent beneath his master. His favourite place to be was under his command. But he didn’t argue as Merlin climbed to his feet and offered a hand down to him. He accepted the hand readily, letting himself be pulled to his feet. He stood close to his master as Merlin dressed beside him and summoned his things with a flick of his hand.

Finally, the pair of them headed for the spring, where Hengroen waited for them.

Their fingers tangled together.

Arthur smiled to himself.

 

* * *

 

 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You can’t be surprised. We used a ritual last night!” Arthur looked askance at his master shrewdly, unimpressed and baffled at the same time. Merlin seemed confounded as he stared out across the fields filled to bursting with vegetables and stalks laden with grain. “You can’t have forgotten that.”

“But I made the ritual up!”

“All rituals are made up…”

“Yes…but…I don’t have a clue about weaving actual spells from nothing.”

“Clearly, I must be dreaming,” Arthur answered drily, raising a hand to rub his forehead before pinching the bridge of his nose. Admittedly, he hadn’t expected to wake up to find the lingering winter had vanished entirely, or that the crops and fruit had sprouted and reached their various maturities overnight. “I’m imagining the farmers running out into the fields.”

Merlin threw him a glare.

“Don’t give me that look.”

“Then don’t make jokes! This is serious.” Merlin huffed and looked out across the fields again. He seemed to grow more upset with each passing second. “You don’t wake up with the knowledge to create spells. You have to learn that stuff. You can’t bring a field to full harvest overnight either. This…this breaks a lot of rules.”

“You’re no stranger to breaking rules.” Arthur released a soft sigh and shuffled closer to his master immediately, wrapping his arms around him in an attempt to lend him a modicum of strength. He brushed a kiss against his jaw. “The most important thing is that our people won’t starve. How that came to be doesn’t matter. We should take this abundance as a blessing instead of putting our cart before the horse and jumping to the worst scenario imaginable. We can speak to Caradoc and Dewain about it later. I imagine the two of them would know more about such rituals than we do.”

“You’re right. About the horse and cart at least.” Merlin directed a sheepish expression at him. “I doubt Caradoc and Dewain would know more though. I hired prostitutes for the night.”

Arthur gaped at him.

“Don’t give me that look.” Merlin wrapped an arm around him and squeezed him closer. He rested his forehead against his temple and added reassuringly, “Prostitutes pride themselves on discretion. Important people make up a large portion of their clientele.”

“That isn’t —” Arthur cut himself off with a disgruntled noise and waved a dismissive hand at once. “I don’t care about that. But I was convinced Caradoc and Dewain were real Druids last night. Or had magic at least. The two of them had that…aura. The one that unnerves me.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Merlin muttered almost to himself. A surprised and somewhat confused expression flickered across his face for a moment. Merlin squeezed him closer unthinkingly, but Arthur didn’t mind in the least. “I didn’t sense that last night. Nor when I hired them.”

“You can be a bit oblivious at times.” A disgruntled expression twisted his features when Merlin flicked his nose in punishment. Arthur batted his hand without thinking before adding, “Ow. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. Just an observation.”

“Sorry,” Merlin replied quietly, the word coming to his tongue with an ease that Arthur had never mastered. He brushed a kiss against the tip of his nose in an attempt to ease the discomfort. Merlin continued less than a moment later. “Well…I’ll speak to them then. Just in case.”

“Good.” Arthur kissed his nose in return and smiled warmly, rubbing a soothing hand between his shoulders. “Take it one step at a time and remember: I’ll be right here. Things will work out for us in the end. We’re no stranger to that.”

Arthur and Merlin looked out at the fields together.

Camelot would prosper. That was all that mattered.   

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop in and say hi at [pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.social/WoodlandGoddess1) or [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/pocket_scribbles/).


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